Wanna Hear a Joke?
by timenspace
Summary: my last fic was a bit OOC, I am very sorry. This one is very real, very scary, and mainly from the Joker's point of view. There isn't really a punchline yet, its a work in progress. RIP. Chap. 11 has been added to.
1. Chaos

I wasn't exactly always smiling. It was more like a leer. The smile never reached my eyes anymore. Sometimes they were so brown, they looked black. Sometimes, when I gave them my crazy side, they were a sort of dark glass, almost a greenish, but different. Why am I describing how I look to you? Because its all chaos. And that's what I am, an agent of chaos. I don't know how. I don't even know why. All I know is is all just a joke. Does this look like a face that would lie? The joke is my middle name. That was supposed to be funny, sort of. Why aren't you smiling? I'm in the middle of dressing up. I don't know why you crazy people are so obsessed with me. I don't get Bat-man worse. This guy, dresses up like a bat, and tries to strong-arm the status quo. Status quo is my enemy, and therefore Bat-man is my enemy. The guy's got some kind of hero delusions. Other than that, we ain't all that different. Naht really. He completes me, he's the side I'll never be. He wears a mask, I don't need one. It's all in the scars, as you can see. I don't really know who all of your are. Maybe I'm the one who's crazy, you've probably judged that already. Or maybe I just want you to think I'm crazy. That's how I got out of Arkham in the first place. I know the sane answers all to well. And my eyes betray no expression, haven't done so in years. I'd be lying if I said I didn't plan. Maybe I don't scheme though. Scheming usually ends up somebody getting screwed. Anarchy, everyone gets screwed. Of course, you wouldn't see the funny side, would you? The whole thing with people is that they need. They need a hero, they need something. But nobody ever gets it. You can't get everything you want. You just take it. That's the whole glory of anarchy. Nobody wins. Everybody dies one time or another, might as well help them along.

Carmine Falcone, for instance, thought he owned the city. True, it was bought and paid for, but what good is that? As he snapped under the fear toxin, the money-hungry, power-starved mobsters were vying for power. The prince of chaos stepped in. Me. One thing you should know is I really do know what power is. Anarchy is power. No, I'm not as crazy as everyone thinks I am. You don't like anarchy? Anarchy means I have the right to shoot you, and you can go 'head and riddle me with bullets. HAha. Riddle me and I might think its funny.

You should guess that I love anomalies. I'm one.


	2. Freak of Nature

**A/N: This POV came out of a mix of Evenescence's "Imaginary" and Linkin Park's "Numb" and a very BAD day...**

Everyone's gone fucking crazy. And it's not just me. They think that I would like to kill Batsy. I probably would. Sometimes the damn creature just pisses me off. I'm sor- It's just hard to think of him as human, ya know? Every once in a while it crosses my mind that with Batso gone there would be no status quo to upset, no anarchy takeover. If you get down to it, there is always a status quo to upset, always an anarchy takeover to, um, plan, weather there is or is not a Batgoon.

But haha, that's funny, cause that's really what chaos is all about. Upsetting the status quo. So I really don't want to kill him, we've got too much of a history. He makes the"quo" for me to destroy in the first place. Ooooha, it's crazy right? I guess because they finally think I'm sane enough to be out of the damn straightjacket for thirty minutes a day...but you don't get it...I've been sane this whole time. Chaos is what makes me think I'm normal -- I've brought everyone down to my level. Except the damned bat. He's still just this creature that just won't be corrupted. He won't give up the ridiculous policy of his about not taking human life. I've pushed him, and pushed him. Maybe a part of my demented mind has a death wish. I do love a challenge. It's almost like a high stakes game of Three Card Monty. The thing that the thing does to make me the most mad is his silly demand of why I wanted to kill him. He didn't get the joke. It's so silly and stupid its funny. I don't want to kill you, stupid bat. You're just too much fun. Trouble with you is you don't see the fun you're causing. You've got them running like scared rabbits. You're not as different from me as you would like to think you are. I know you had it. Just one bad day, and it multiplied into several. And somehow you just manage to hold on...with batwings.....

I stared blankly at the padded wall, I tried to adjust into a more comfortable position, but it's kind of difficult since I'm in this straight jacket. Damn. Because of this one time that Bats broke the rules and my neck in the process, getting stuck in a position for hours and hours is getting more than just an annoyance. I broke it the rest of the way, did you know that? Damned proud of it, too. Just had to make me finish the job. That's Bats for you. It really hurt at the time but gods, my face hurt worse than that. I guess there really isn't a way to explain it. The psychos, up here, say I have some kind of psychoanalytic personality psychosis disorder. Its a crock of phbbt that's what I told them. Well, actually, I cracked up laughing. And the poor doctor was so serious. It's so tragic it's hilarious. They think they can fit the jack in the box. heeheee. Please tell me that was funny. Well I guess what they mean by those big long medical terms is that I both have a death wish, but it comes and goes. They told me it's some kind of control issue. Whatever. Har always said...gosh I haven't thought of her in forever. Does she think about me? Probably not. Probably found a better man with a better face. Serves her right for running off like she did. Doubt. It. She smashed people's heads almost as good as I blew them up. I think the only person she probably was nice to was me, but hey, I always come across the wrong way anyway. I remembered she smelled like Tang perfume with something else. I guess I just never got around to killing her because she always laughed at my jokes. Maybe it was because she was half-crazy too, he he...

Day she packed to leave, it was just one of those things when friends leave. You say goodbye, you promise to be in touch. The whole bit. She didn't want to leave, she just wanted to get out of Gotham for a while. Didn't matter to me, I got too much to do. I can't just pull up stakes and leave. Everyone asks why I let myself get caught. I like it here. True, I'm not too fond of the damn jacket, but hey, at least I get fed regularly. I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but I think I went crazier after she left. I doubt I'll even admit that to myself, but who knows? I admit I'm crazy, but that's who I am, if I wasn't crazy, and wasn't such a freak, I wouldn't be me. Oh, I can tell you don't get it. I don't care. That's the cruel irony of it all....

Plead insanity. Of course. And its so damn easy to get out of here. Pity the new doctor. Gah...he's incredibly....hmmm...bored. Sulking around, he stares at me with an intrested as though I am some sort of freak in a cave. I bet you want to know how I got the scars, doctor. Too bad. Finding out weather the story I choose to tell you is true or not is up to you. Even I don't remember anymore. It depends on the situation. You see, the crazies, they can be played. Me, I've reversed the playing. Hee...oh come on! Cut out the serious face...I don't need a reason for anything, because if there isn't a reason, I'll just make one up. Maybe that's why I have a permenent smile. Oh, come on, you're no fun. Please tell me that was funny. You don't like explosives, you don't like death. It's kind of obvious you don't like me. At least you have feelings. Consider yourself lucky. Just one bad day, and I went crazy. You can understand that, I think. Don't look away, look at me.

Oh come on, don't feel bad. Remember the little fiasco I caused at Dent's fundraiser? You had to have read it in the papers. Unless you're an idiot. Just a little thing. I never saw Wayne. Ever. There was just a...bat. I'm just saying. What crazy doesn't come to his own party, even in a disguise? It doesn't make a lot of sense does it. That was easy to figure out. Getting rid of his lady friend was easy, and it was just the beginning.

You wanna know how I found out? First place, everyone thought it was all about Dent. Bats just let me mention his assistant and he just went crazy. For once I had the upper hand. Right where I wanted him. And the plan got set in motion. Then for once I'd change things. Forever. It was like a dozen houses of cards. Flick one, and the whole thing goes, it all burns. Collapses on top of each other. You don't get how funny it is, do you. I just take plans and turn them on itself. Because that's what I am. An agent of chaos.

* * *


	3. Harliquin

A/N: Finally out of the Joker's head. here's another character....

I remembered loving him. I remembered well. At least, I thought I did. I guess you could say that I came back to find out for sure, but I really don't remember. I was first trying to come up with enough courage to walk in a padded cell with a man in a straight jacket. Call me crazy, I know. But you don't know him like I do. I have to admit that the part of him that frightens me is what's so attractive about him. It's all a little of the charm, yes.

If I did love him, then the pain was still very fresh. I admit I regret all the killing sprees we went on together.

Maybe I've come here 'cause I want to prove to myself that I've moved on. Moving on. That was something I'd always hated at Arkham in the first place. When the patient moved on, so did we. And if I didn't love him. What then? Would I always feel like there was a hole in my stomach?

After I found out that he didn't - and probably couldn't - love me, it had hurt almost as much as badly when he left the gash across my cheek. That anyone - even him- would want anyone - even me - to be just like him was horrifying enough.

And now I'd tried to reform, tried to change my ways, but my feelings for him didn't change. I guess I went along with the whole thing because I felt sorry for him...I don't know.

"Jacks, there's gotta be something other than this..." I hadn't wanted to tell him. He'd probably beat me up again, it depended on his mood. And he'd just blown up Wayne Rails again. Who knew.

"Than what?" he asked. He was rarely straightforward, and I'd only seen him do it to one other person. Problem was, I saw through fake sincerity.

I really didn't want to say the wrong thing. It could end badly. "Jacks, I..." He kissed me on the lips. He wasn't really that gentle about it, but he didn't hurt me. I tasted the blood in his mouth. He'd been socked in the face, I knew that. It wasn't a real kiss, anyway. Jacks just didn't have it in him. Or maybe it just hurt too much. He just wanted a kiss.

"I just need to..." God, I didn't know how to say this for a million bucks..."I need treatment, Jacks. I haven't been feeling well for the past couple of weeks." And I hadn't. I was getting eaten alive by a random guilty conscionse.

"Hon, I..." the ghoulishly carved grin on his face spread up. He chuckled. "Fine by me. Just know this. I will kill you if you ever come back. If you tell Bats anything..." he hissed in my ear. "I will kill you."

I felt angry. He always worried about that stupid bat. The guy was crazy himself. Just his obsession was a bit too much.

"I DON'T want Batsy, Jacks. And you know you..." I swallowed. "You know you can trust me, Jacks. Always."

His grin grew wider. He looked better without the damn makeup, but who am I to say such a thing? "Always?" I knew he believed what I said but he was mocking me.

"You know what I mean, Jacks."

My tone was dangerously sharp, but he was in one of his good moods today, and I felt a little daring. He gave me what some people call a "puppy glance" I really don't know how to describe his besides he turned his lips down in a curve. Only minor signs of emotion betrayed his eyes. No one else would dectect a flicker of what looked alot like affection. You couldn't exactly call our relationship mutual. Not really. I was in too deep for that. You couldn't even call it making love. He either didn't know what it was, or had just completely forgotten. Oh yes, I admit, I loved him. I knew that, but he only saw us as friends with alot of really good benefits.

One time he'd cried. ONCE. He'd just taken the normal two Peridoptyne for his whatever-It-was. I knew. I couldn't diagnose it worth crap, but I knew how to deal with the symptoms. I was a doctor for goshsakes. I knew what to steal just before we bombed the pharmacy on 5th and Opera. Funny thing that he reacted violently to certain drugs and not others. The trademarks at Arkham either did nothing or just more harm than good. He even reacted differently to generics. Well, anyway, that one time, real tears had poured from his eyes. I'd hoped for the best, but it gave him such awful headaches that he pleaded a different one. By the next week, he was off to his old self, and he killed one of his favorite assistants in a fit of rage during a fight with Bats. Or at least that's how he related it. He creates his own past, so I take what he says as a grain of truth.

Doctor's knowledge told me that there was no real cure. But lover's hope thought otherwise.

I was a fool. I thought I could reform him. Turns out he made me into something almost like him: a crazed killer.

He'd just be his normal calloused self, then he'd have an episode. An episode was when he'd get almost emotional, he'd start having nightmares. That's when I would think that he was getting better, but the relapse was the worse. He hated the world, hated everything. He almost made me wonder if he hated me. Every relapse found him futher from insanity and sanity. I don't think you get that, just think about it being purely worse than insane. It's one of the worst paths to go down. I guess you could say that I left because of my own voices. The ghosts of those I had killed haunted me in my sleep. I knew nightmares haunted him. He'd buried his memories so deeply that they fought to get out in his sleep.

He really did have feelings...he just didn't remember what they felt like.

I stopped asking questions years ago.

A/N: I know this is horribly OOC, but it serves its purpose in story telling. I just wanted to show you she has a serious side. This fic occurs in the Earth 32 where Jason Todd never returned, the Joker has been captured and is in Arkham, and Harley Quinn is a more serious character than originally thought. I know in the Nolan Brothers world, Jason doesn't exist, but I left him in there for the purposes of storytelling...

Thanks for your patience.


	4. Of Health and Happiness

Who here isn't buzzed up enough to have a candid conversation? I must admit even the orderlies here are a little...ahem...how shall I say...crazy themselves. Oh dear, I am sorry, I didn't see you there. Dr. Cunningam, at your service. I must admit, I don't like this job much. When I volunteered to serve at Arkham, I didn't realize, well, how crazy the patients are. They say it's the house, but I'm not superstitious. I don't like being under supers that really don't give a damn. I guess I got hired on account of my good looks, not my qualifications. Which is a serious insult to my intelligence. That and the fact that something made the one they called "the Joker" laugh during the interview. Now that's superstitious.

I've tried talking to the guy, but I don't get him. He's not just a sadist, but it's like he likes getting tortured himself. I've never seen a case where the symptoms contradicted each other. They say he has the same effect on everyone: mezmerizing, intrigue, sickening, and horrifying all at the same time. I wonder if he just craves attention, With this sort, I wonder what would happen if no one paid any attention...not that I want to torture him (even though I know there is more than just a couple of orderlies that would like to). I remember reading a novel in high school about how insane people have a sort of wall. If you can break the wall they have around them without snapping the final coil, you have a chance of curing them. Problem is, "the Joker" has no wall that I can find. Threats don't scare him, he doesn't appear to have any phobias, thanks to my constant analysis. Yeah, I know no one's broken through yet, at least I've heard. He's driven a couple of our doctors to insanity. Personally, I don't get this whole thing. Rumour is an "old fling" of his is back in town. She goes by another name now, but maybe paying a visit to Ms. Quinzell is just what I need to break the case.

And nothing is known about this guy's past. Sometimes he remembers it one way, sometimes another. Got some crazy obsession with those scars of his. I better get back to work, but I don't like this. Being in the same building with a serial killer or whatever-he-is is a little freaky.

Dr. Cunningam

*****************

So anyway, I'm just sittin' in this hotel room in this blasted city, tryin' to get up enough courage to see Jacks. Playin' with this goldarn ring. Its just a cheap piece of crap I took off someone's finger before I - before we - killed them. Sometimes the ring feels heavy, sometimes it's light. It's got seven "diamonds", nuthin' special. I just toss it in my hand when I'm bored, or thinkin' about Jacks, like now. At least it's better than chewin' my fingernails to the quick, don't you think?

The radio's blarin', hits mostly. And mostly I'm ignorin' it. It's just good background noise when I'm tryin' to concentrate. Until I hear that one line of lyrics I must've heard before, but just ignored (hey, that rhymes!)

I tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone/But though you're still with me/I've been alone all along...

for some reason I think of me and Jacks. I still loved him, I already knew that. I hadn't really come for that. That left only two questions. Did he still love me? Or maybe I should ask, Could he?

Do you think a deranged killer like Jacks could love? I don't know. Maybe I don't want to know.

A/N: I don't know if I like this chapter, but I'm posting it anyway...

* * *


	5. StraightJacket Humor

Nobody would believe me. I knew though. The orderlies. Oh God, I hate them. What man, where you born in a bar? Jacks wouldn't care, but I did. He'd learned far on to enjoy torture. Life was ment to be lived - enjoyed - even if all in entailed was torture.

All I remember is seeing the headline, JOKER CAPTURED, and I mumbled and excused goodbye. I don't think anyone would understand why I'd go back to someone like Jacks, a sadist, and a couple of other names came to mind. I suddenly realized I never did know his real name. It had always been Mista J, Puddin, or most recently, Jacks. Oh to hell with your conscience, Harley. Just go, just see him. I knew I believed in him, even if no one else did. He didn't exist to the rest of the world, just some devil that appeared out of the night with no name, no other me thought, deep down, Jacks was human. He must've became a sociopath, but how? To every action, there is a reaction, there is no chance. Jacks didn't just "snap", he wasn't always like this. And you don't become a sociopath by just one bad day!

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Holly McDermott to see...ah...the Joker?" I handed Arkham my falsified credentials. I didn't care if I got in trouble for this, first offense and they wouldn't care anyway. Not Arkham. I didn't like the way the orderly looked though. He was a big burly guy with hardened fists. I knew they abused prisoners, the Joker must be the all-star....that was how Jacks escaped the last time.

"You sure miss?" he asks, an innocent quizzical expression displayed across his features didn't convince me. "He's been known to..."

I smiled crookedly. "I was married to a sociopath," I said evenly. "Ms. McDermott. And yes, I know. I've met him." I didn't care if it was half-truths. The Joker and I had lived together as if we were married. If he had cared enough about a ring I would have said yes.

They forced him in a straightjacket. The trouble with Arkham is they don't give a damn. Blackened blood coated the left side of his face.  
"Sorry miss...tried to escape...you know how they are."

"That is a lame excuse and you know it," I informed him coldly. "You may leave."

I stared at the camera, and then I reached across the table and kissed him, as though nothing had changed between us. He didn't pull back, but accepted. I know, it's disgusting, but he doesn't like to be kissed where it hurts. It never made sense to me, but that's just how Jacks is.

"Jacks..." I pulled back, to get a closer look. The scars across his cheeks along with the older wound gave him a hideous appearence, like a zombie from a horror film. I was furious. I'd get my hands on the orderly that did this to him, bash his face in, make him think twice...but no, I didn't think like that anymore. Even though I of all people know Jacks, as far as he would let me in to his head. So that was why I kissed him, for old times. I tasted the blood in my mouth. You would have thought that he hadn't been kissed in a lifetime. I guessed that he would have had another girl after me, but I wasn't sure after his reaction.

"Wu...What did they do to you?"

"I'm alright, Har, thanks for asking....no worries...I'm fine. Now that you're here sugar pies...."

"I can't help you escape."

"Why's that?" He scowled.

"I got to big of a rap sheet Jacks...but I came here for your help."

"What makes you think..."

"I know you, Jacks, I'm not about to play games..."

"You've already turned your card in the game of life. And you don't like what you see."

Damn. He always could read me like a book. "What do you want now?" he had that bored look...

"Names, anything...something from your past."

"Oh, I get this," he chuckled with laughter. "You've reformed yourself and you think you can change me. Sorry darlin'. too late for that."

"I don't believe that. You just laugh because you're afraid to remember. You don't want to remember."

He burst out in a fit of laughter. "You don't get it do you? What did you find someone else to..."

"Not ever, Jacks."

"See, love is like a poison...it will either kill ya, or you'll bite other people..."

"Jacks!" Now I was frustrated. I couldn't outsmart him, what was I thinking? Was I crazy? You can't cure the Joker, he's a disease that spreads from Gotham City to Arkham, leaving a trail of death. If I was just lucky enough...

"Now, you gonna get me out or not?" He licked the blood off his lips.

"Jacks..."

"You could break me out, break the guard's head..."

I looked away. I didn't want to remember either....

"I'm right aren't I? You think you can cure me, don't you?" He chuckled as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. But I knew without looking into his eyes that he really didn't want to hope falsely. He'd been told too many lies.

"Never mind, Jacks." Even though it pained me to say the words, I put on the Harliquinn act and said them. "I was just kidding."

"Times up!" someone called. He laughed then, harder than ever.

I would just have to listen to the old tapes. I didn't want to dig those up again. I just wanted him to tell me. I didn't want to listen to the psychotic conversations.

"I like it here, you know," he rattled on...

I grinned, I knew it wasn't true. "I'll talk to some people. I'll be back in two days, Jacks." I winked at him.

What the hell am I thinking? I'm lying, lying through my yellow teeth, but at least I made him think someone cared.

I did care. I just couldn't figure out what it was I was supposed to do.

* * *


	6. Not There

_A/N: I hated the last chapter, but it had to be there. I guess this is turning into more of Harley's POV, but I promise you will hear more about "Jacks"' s secret Identity in the next chapter. I admit the background is basically the same for both Worth Savin' Me and this, just there are a few more twists involved in this one. Since this chapter was VERY short, I chose to place my Author's Note here._

The following chapter is in the Joker's point of view.

Gosh, it was nice to see her again. Resurfaced some old times I thought I'd forgotten. She hadn't forgotten how to kiss that was for sure. Hadn't forgotten I don't like it touched first. She hadn't forgotten. I know you're probably wondering why I called in the thing so Batman's identity wouldn't be revealed...well, the thing is. I already know who the damn rich fool it is that flies around in a helicopter and drives a lambourgini by day and a batsuit at night. Well for one, it would ruin all the fun. It is soo obvious, it almost isn't funny. What billionare wastes his inheritance on a suit? Now that's just crazy. You ask, why didn't I hold a conference tell the whole world. Well, for one, its just a bad joke, no one would believe me, what fun is there in that? And what military guy says "Let her go". Very poor choice of words. Only some little rich freak would think that up. I mean, the whole point is to get him in the chink of his armor, right? Brucie's worst weakness is his strength. Yes, I know, it doesn't make much sense does it? Money. Everybody's got a weakness for the worthless paper. Just give me some fire and gasoline and bullets any day.

And he's rich - obviously psychotic millionare - and he's almost as crazy as me. And I would know. One look in those midnight eyes says the kid's haunted by something - and you know - this fellow has had a very BAD day. Maybe more than one. Say it's Bruce explains everything. Kid lost his parents (one couple I DIDN'T kill, surprisingly). He disappeared off the map. It explains everything. Almost. Not really of course. I may be crazy, but I wouldn't dress up like a bat, even if I was pretending to be a hero. I wouldn't do that to inspire people. Why would I do that? That would be even more crazy. I may be crazy, but I'm not that INSANE!


	7. Requiem for a Dream

You wanna know something? I'm not crazy. I just like everyone to think I am. Hee. See, you cracked a smile at that one. You thought that was funny. I don't know why nobody's talked to me in a week. I've resorted to talking to the wall. I can make all kinds of faces, execute all kinds of plans...look listen, alot of people wonder why it is I don't regret. Problem is, they've never considered how many times I've recreated myself. It's like being reborn, sort of. You can make yourself into whatever you want.

See, I used to be an actor, played all these characters on stage. It's just like doing that. Only you never play the same role twice. I think what I would fear most is not being locked in a room with the Bats, it would be having no audience to act to. But the thing is, I think only Harley knows that, and she isn't stupid enough to want to torture me.

* * *

I was going to hate this. Worst. Thearapy. Session. Ever.

PLAY

"Joker, please....you'll please tell me your name, just once."

"It's on my card."

"Real name, Jacks!"

"Jack..."

"Is that...?"

"Damnit! Sorry, Jewels. Been too long."

"Last name, alias, anything?"

"Just Joker, been that since I remember." Peeling laughter.

I remembered why I hadn't pried further. When he laughed like that he could get dangerous. It only meant that I had hit a raw nerve. Even though his crazed eyes would never betray his feelings, human sense told me it had to hurt. There was silence then. I must've placed my hands on top of his.

"It's alright..." Stupid me hadn't realized that he wasn't your ordinary psycho.

"Oh will you quit with the psycho..."

"You did fine, Jack."

"Don't. Call. Me. That. Ever." He meant buisness. For some reason, "Jacks" was completely different.

"That's fine. What name would you..."

"Joker."

"That's not a name, Jacks. It's time you picked who you are."

He cracked up laughing.. "Just a freak..like you. Oh yes, Har. I know what a freak you are. How you reinvent yourself to fit each patient...."

I stopped the tape. He'd had me figured out before I did...Jack. That was all I had. James? Jacob? There were millions of possiblities. He could have come from anywhere in the country, not just Gotham City. I had nothing to go on but a common name. And I wasn't about to call on Bat-freak to help me out with all the technology. He wouldn't understand for one, and for two, he would probably lock me up.

Plus, who knew how long everyone found out that Holly McDermott was Harley Quinzell? I couldn't say that I hated the Bat-man, but I didn't trust him. He's been Jacks mortal enemy since I can remember. If Batman could save the city, maybe an ex-murderess, ex-psychologist could save one crazed psycho sociopath. I didn't know if I could. But I was sure going to try.

J-A-C-K. I typed the four letters as though they were the nuclear football code. ...ENTER...

Recieving.....3,000,000,000 results....

narrow parameters....GOTHAM CITY....

I scanned through around 500 picturs before I glanced at my file.

ALIAS: JOKER

NAME, FIRST: UNKNOWN

NAME, LAST: UNKNOWN

OTHER ALIAS(ES): UNKNOWN.

I stared at the photo. The crazed eyes. The smeared makeup. What if the eyes weren't crazy? The atrocious scars replaced by perhaps a gentle smile? I paused. Was I really in love with "Jacks"? Or had I fallen for the person I thought he would have been?

Unknown...unknown...Had he disappeared on purpose? Faked his death to protect himself? Was it someone else's fault, or was it all part of the madness undercurrent fueled by the clown?


	8. Sacrifice

A/N: Would you all please join me into listening to your favorite tribute song in remembrance of today and tomorrow. Also cross your fingers. The 22nd is the first anniversery of the death of our favorite Joker, Heath Ledger. Please cross your fingers for the Oscars. Thanks.

* * *

I scanned each picture, desparate to fuel the spark of hope. I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen...the real Jack...was there even a real Jack, or had the Joker slaughtered him, along with his memories?

JAMES MARONE - FILE LOCKED, AGE 14,

JACOB NAPIER - MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD, 21

JAKE BOLLA - WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN

JOE KERR - FOUND DEAD

JACK MITCHELL - MIA

James Marone could have been Jack at another time. James' eyes were haunted, like a wounded animal. Jacob looked like a depressed teen, somebody the system had ignored. Jake Bolla had disappeared off the map. All that remained of him was an old grainy photo with his buddies and a girl. She looked like me, minus the scars and the chestnut eyes, of course. Joe Kerr, eliminate two letters. Could have been a close twin. But it wasn't Jack, and the photo ID compared to the Autopsy looked slightly different. Joe Kerr. Joker. Was this the first time, Jack had killed? and was it possibly in self-defense?

Jack Mitchell was a military man. He looked uncomfortable with the haircut. He had more photos...same girl, blue eyes, firebrand hair. Only she looked tired. Jack's photo looked as though he expected to be hunted.

ARTICLES RELATING...CROSS REFERENCING....

Military Wife Brutally Murdered on Base, Child Found Drowned, NO SUSPECTS.

There's a reason the Joker wants this town to burn. I read the article which seemed to monotonely describe the crime scene. Dated JUNE 4th, 1999. Jack would have been away. Fighting somewhere.

NAME: JACK MITCHELL, STATUS: MIA, believed KIA.

Slowly the dots were connecting...Jack must've been captured, tortured....lost his mind somewhere overseas...escapes...comes home to find everything that kept him alive, dead. He must have tried disappearing, but the animals found him first. That's when I realized: I failed. I came to come to terms with being in love with a sociopath. Turns out I'm still crazy. I'm still in love with the damned fool.

* * *


	9. Cruel Irony

She showed me the photos. Military. Family. I didn't feel anything. The people in the photo. I knew the young man had to be me, but the girl. I remembered her yes, but I still didn't feel anything. At all. That's when Harley pulled out the crime scene photos. The girl covered in blood. The child drowned. The case never solved. I felt something like a prick. I would never admit to you that, but hey, this is just my brain talking to itself, nobody's going to know. I felt suddenly, different. But Harley wouldn't know it. I pushed the button. I didn't want to look at those photos. I didn't want to remember. Being just a non-existant freak had worked up to now. Why change history? Why find out who this Jack Mitchell was. Maybe I don't want to know.

"You're gonna regret that Har," I murmured threateningly.

"You don't scare me, Jacks." I lunged at her. Oh, the nerve of that girl. To think that PHOTOS would make me remember. I didn't know why I leathally felt like going for her. Accusing her of killing the girl for no reason. I've blown up hospitals, for goshsakes. I'm a killer. I'm not supposed to have feelings. You think you can recreate me life for me, Harley? Not going to happen. I've recreated myself so many times even I don't remember. I just remember the first time I killed wasn't in hate. It was out of self-defense. And I don't need to remember anything else. I don't want to remember anything else. Don't you get it? That's the joke of it all. The joke is my middle name. Nothing else. I just came to being after one bad day. Since it drove me crazy, I really don't want to remember what it was. Who knows what that would do to me. And despite all my threats, I don't want to die. There are times the joke should end, yes. But I don't want to die.

I'd rather have a muliple choice past. Be able to pick and choose why I've got these scars. Or why I'm so crazy.

It just was so funny. A reformed killer tries to reform the psycho with PHOTOS? The whole thing was hilarious.

But I must be lying to myself. I feel like somebody stirred the soup wrong and turned my head upside down or something.

I hope I don't have another breakdown. Last time I don't remember how I got out of Arkham. Somebody pried too much. I just remember that there was blood on my prisoner's uniform. Everywhere....


	10. You Complete Me

You know, been thinking alot about Har lately. Yeah, I know she goes by an alias, though why I wouldn't know. Don't know why I think about her. After she showed up with those damned photos, I can't get her out of my head. Not that I miss her. That would admit that I have "feelings" for her. I _don't _have feelings, not for her, not for anyone. And I don't want to remember. Even if this "Jake Mitchell" is me, its just not going to happen. And she is so _obsessed _with those damned photos. Does the reformed killer think she can cure me?

Cure me, my cards! She was a doctor, for goshsakes, she ought to know that a killer like me is too far gone for her to help. She should be wasting her time on the rest of Gotham's scum. And another thing. I don't think I like the new girl. I should escape, teach the lost dog a good lesson. Gosh, she's acting like she's in love, really in love. Now that's funny.

In love. Harley? And its not like all the physical stuff we did before. Oh no. She's got the strange look in her eyes I've seen before. She "cares". Now she doesn't just want to marry me, she also wants to rehibilitate me. Now scheming like I told you ends one person getting screwed right? She might just get her wish.

And with love, you just end up getting burned. Singed to a crisp. Lighting up the scry with yellows, orange, and black smoke. And she hasn't come to visit since, oh never mind. Pity, I disappointed her. She's crazy. Worse now than ever. But hey, I went a little further since she left. So I guess it's only fair. Nah, I don't want to kill her. Not really. Even though I'm going to make her think so.

She and I are a bit like magnets, both repulsing and attracting each other with unstoppable force. After all, what fun would be in it if we didn't attract? Like magnets of course, stuck together as if we'd never separate. We had...oh, how do you say it delicatley? A relationship that was, ah, more physical than anything else. Not that that was unpleasant but I haven't really thought of her much in, ah, what's it been, five years?

I don't keep track of the time. Too much to do, that's all. Why should I make excuses? I do't have to answer to anyone. I don't answer to the Mob, I don't even answer to the people here. And you know the funniest thing is, I don't even answer to me. hehe heee! A madman can't answer to a psycho. It just doesn't work. Aw, come on! You're not even listening are you? You're just staring off into outer space.

What dy'a think, that Batman's gonna show up? He's human, not some kind of superhero who's all-knowing, okay? He's a rich billionaire that pays people to tell him stuff. A dumbo could figure that out. I'm not ambitious, not really.

I don't want to take over the world. What fun is there in that? World takeover? Then what? That's why terrorizing everyone is far better. Better than takeover. It's control. And control is better than takeover. Admit it, making everyone so scared they laugh, that is better than making everyone follow your rules. See, with me, there are no rules. World takeover isn't chaos, anarchy is.

Sometimes these dictators just give us a bad name.

_A/N: I wrote this while watching Superman Returns. And I know, he's ranting....but what's new. And I know, it sounds like a twisted combination of Heath Ledger and Mark Hamill. We still love you, Heath. Congrats on the Oscar nomination, they say you'll win. _


	11. Let The Flames Begin

A/N: The following is Harliquin's POV (I just like spelling her name that way)

Dammit! He _didn't _remember, maybe didn't want to remember. It was like unlocking a safe - well, maybe. Safes just held money, jewelry, valuables, who cares if you singe a couple thou blowing the lock, as long as you get the bulk of the cash? Unless, of course, the safe is booby trapped.

The brain is more like an intricate network. You blow a fuse doin' repairs on the transformer, and you could cause a blackout, or worse.

That's probably Jacks. Only he's got some kind of problems with crossed wires, broken networks, singed cables. I'm not a computer genius. I know I probably don't explain it well. But I love him. He can't help if he wants to watch the world burn. If only I could unlock the broken transformer, without getting electrocuted myself. I just need to make a call in there. Find out if Jake Mitchell really is locked away in a cell there somewhere.

You wanna know why I stopped going to the theatre? They always light the villian in black. Or in a thunderstorm. Blues and blacks. Jack isn't a villian. Not really. He's a few circuits short of having the heart of a hero.

If he were here right now he'd think that was hilarious. But I don't. I'm no angel, either. I can't bring back the dead by trying to unlock the Joker's mind, but...I don't know what I think I'm going to accomplish. I might end up dead. And he won't regret it. He'll forget that I loved him before the week's out.

Jack...please, come back...deep in your head there's one person the Joker can't touch, he's the only one that can defeat him, truly. Not even Batman can do that.

He always did say I cared too much. Is that possible? Caring too much usually ends someone dead...or crazy. Crazy in love, or crazed with agony.

I duly noted how the picture of Jack Marone and Jake Mitchell looked similar.

Could have been the same person.

I glanced to the mug shots of Jacks.

Unknown, unknown....nobody knew his past, who he used to be. Nobody cared either. It didn't matter to them that a wounded soul became a monster. They just don't care. They don't remember who he was, because he had to disappear off the map. Maybe I don't want to know why. And I should stop lying to myself. Jacks is right. For once.

He can't be cured, not really. Not permanently. He has to be monitored, and gods, he HATES that. As far as the pills go. Its not that he doesn't like the attention, he does. The problem is it fuels the monster, adds more to the fire that consumes his mind.

No wonder he likes to blow stuff up. It's like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Sort of. I guess because I'm a doctor I analyze so much. When I was an intern, I danced to get my way through college. I mean real dancing, not your run-of-the-mill floozy, oh no, I danced in ballets, in upper class stunt work. I wasn't excellent, but just average. In that world, average is never good enough. But it got me through school.

And Jacks, did I see him before? I wracked my brain. I never paid attention to my audience. It was too nerve-frying to do so. And now I sound so coherent. So sane. But no one but a madwoman would still be in love with a killer like Jacks.

He was a different person before. Every so often, Jake Mitchell shows his face, but the Joker bashes his face in every time. I'm not saying that Jacks has identity crisis or anything like that. He really does not remember who he used to be. I don't think he wants to remember, but unfortunately he might have to. I have to know that Jake didn't die completely under duress.

Did they torture him with cards? Is that were he got the scars?

I'm only making assumptions, because the only one who knows the complete truth doesn't remember. Joker really doesn't care he who he was before. Now he only exists to make Gotham suffer. He's not a monster, I don't care what everyone says.

True, he didn't treat me the best, but he knew...about those little things...but it was probably just instinct, and selfish desire. We were "lovers" after all, but I just hope it wasn't just one-sided. Sometimes when he was half-asleep, he almost made me think he was seeing someone else.

I think that's when I first fell in love with a different person. Subconsious....would hypnosis do anything? I don't know anything about it, I just studied psychology, not hypnotherapy.

When you're a doctor, if you're not "tip-top", they send you to Arkham. And I was good. Didn't feel anything to interview the criminally insane, the pyros, the ones that are so easy to understand, they are really just weaklings that want revenge.

Jacks is different. I don't care that he says that he had "one bad day". It just isn't true. Jacks is a strong person that was shattered multiple times.

You rarely break a ceramic beyond repair by just dropping it once.


End file.
